Anything for You
Page 38
He was coming up to the top of the hill, where the air smelled like grapes; the farmers used the crushed skins as fertilizer. There was Prudence Vanderbeek on a big John Deere tractor. He raised a hand, and on impulse, turned into the drive of Blue Heron Vineyard. The Hollands’ place, where Jess worked.
He’d never visited her at work before; having a secret relationship meant he couldn’t drop by with flowers or just to kiss her.
But his mother worked at the vineyard, too, as a pourer in the tasting room. The perfect excuse.
Inside, several couples were taking down notes, chatting with Mom, smiling. And why not? The Blue Heron tasting room was one of the prettiest around, and chances were high that one of the Holland family had come out to schmooze, which customers loved, according to his mom. Mom herself was good at her job, none of the Debbie Downer stuff she saved for her children.
One couple wore matching sweatshirts with pictures of mustangs running across a desert. You had to wonder where those were sold. Connor sat next to them. “Hi, Mom.”
“My son is here!” Mom announced. “Hello, sweetheart! How nice to see you! I called you yesterday, but you didn’t call me back.” It wouldn’t be a visit with his mother without a guilt trip, but she looked pleased nonetheless, and Connor knew he scored points by stopping by.
“My son and daughter own O’Rourke’s,” Mom told the drinkers. “It’s the best restaurant in town.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’ll get your cut later.” He winked at the patrons, who smiled back.
“What are you doing here?” Mom asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope. I was out for a run. Thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
His mom beamed. “The best son in the world.”
“Why stop at son? How about best child?”
“You know I don’t have favorites.” She smiled at him. He was her favorite, of course.
“So how are you, Mom?”
“Excellent.” She poured a taste of pinot gris for the mustang couple, then answered a question for someone else. She came back and ran a hand through her hair. Repeated the gesture.
“Notice anything different about me?” she asked.
Oh, crap. “Your hair looks great,” he said. She’d let it go gray recently, and it did look nice.
“My hair is the same.”
“Um...well. You look nice.”
“Don’t I?” She clasped her hands in front of her chin. “Anything different?”
Connor stifled a sigh. What was it? A facelift? New lipstick? He had no idea. “Uh...are you wearing makeup?”
“No.”
The door behind the tasting room opened, and in came Jess. She halted at the sight of him, and his stupid heart slammed against his sternum. “Hey, Connor,” she said, her voice perfectly normal.
“Jess.” He managed a nod, he was pretty sure.
“Here to see your mom?”
“Yep.” His mother was frowning at him now and kept shoving at her hair.
“You still don’t notice anything different about me?” Mom asked.
“Can I have a taste of the Gewürztraminer?” one of the men asked.
“Let me pour that for you,” Jess said. She pulled out a bottle and stepped a little bit behind his mother, then pointed at her own hand.
Her left ring finger, to be precise.
Connor’s eyes widened. He looked at his mother’s hand. Sure enough, there was a diamond there, as big as a cherry tomato.
“Hail Mary,” he said.
“I know!” Mom crowed. “Ronnie and I are getting married!”
“Holy shit.”
“Stop cussing and hug your mother,” Jessica said calmly.
“Mazel tov,” said the lady in the horse shirt, clinking her glass with her husband’s.
There were a lot more cusses that wanted to come out, that was for sure. His mother? Getting married? She was...sixty, maybe? Did she really need to be married? Because marriage implied... Okay, gross. And to Ronnie Petrosinsky, the Chicken King? Didn’t he have ties to the Russian Mob?
Was his mother actually having sex with the Chicken King? Connor’s stomach rolled.
“He’s choked up,” Jess said. “Aw. Look at him, Jeanette.”
“You’ll still be my best boy,” Mom said, coming around to hug him.
“Uh... I’m so happy for you, Mom,” Connor murmured. The wine tasters cooed.
Jessica gave him a wry smile. He smiled begrudgingly back, then hugged his mother a little harder.
This would be good. Ronnie was a decent guy, loved his only child, made fistfuls of money with his fried-chicken empire, and Mom would have someone to look after, and someone to look after her.
Connor wouldn’t have to plow his mother’s driveway every time it snowed. He wouldn’t have to worry about her if the power went out during a thunderstorm.
He wouldn’t have to worry if she was lonely.
“Okay, let me go. I’m having a hot flash,” Mom said, and Connor realized he was hugging her very close, indeed.
Maybe he was a little choked up.
“Have you set a date? I don’t want you shacking up with this guy. Would’ve been nice if he’d asked my permission first,” Connor grumbled.
His mother laughed. She did look happy. And younger. And pretty. “Sometime this summer. I also might be quitting Blue Heron.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Jessica said. “Folks, no one knows our wine better than Jeanette except the Hollands themselves,” she added, filling glasses. “You have the privilege of talking with a real connoisseur today.”
“Oh, Jessica, you’re too nice!” Mom said. “But she’s right, I do love wine. Have you tried our Chardonnay? It’s lovely, and we have both oaked and unoaked.” She glanced at him. “Connor, sweetheart, I’ll see you later, okay? You and Colleen are coming to dinner this week. Is it me, or is she huge?”
“I think she looks beautiful,” Jess said.
“She’s huge,” Connor said. “Congratulations, Mom.”
His mother beamed.
Good. She deserved happiness. She’d been something of a ghoul these past ten years, moaning and mooning after Pete. High time she got over him.
“Jess, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
The faintest blush worked its way into her cheeks. “You bet. Come on back.”
She led him down the hall, past Honor’s office and into hers, a smaller version of the same. On the door was a nameplate: Jessica Dunn, Director of Marketing.
He could guess what that meant to her. The office overlooked the vineyard. She’d decorated with a couple of photos of her and Davey, or Davey alone. A stuffed animal sat on one shelf, as well as some books on marketing and wine. Otherwise, it still looked very new.
“Have a seat,” she said, going behind the desk. She picked up a pen, then put it down.
“Congratulations to you, too,” he said. “On your job promotion. I’m really—” proud, he wanted to say “—happy for you.”
“Thanks.” The flush deepened. “What can I do for you, Connor?”
He could think of roughly eighty-seven things immediately, all of which involved sex. “Uh...well, I just... I wanted to say...” Shit. Talking was hard. He took a deep breath. “No hard feelings, Jess. I understand.”
He’d never visited her at work before; having a secret relationship meant he couldn’t drop by with flowers or just to kiss her.
But his mother worked at the vineyard, too, as a pourer in the tasting room. The perfect excuse.
Inside, several couples were taking down notes, chatting with Mom, smiling. And why not? The Blue Heron tasting room was one of the prettiest around, and chances were high that one of the Holland family had come out to schmooze, which customers loved, according to his mom. Mom herself was good at her job, none of the Debbie Downer stuff she saved for her children.
One couple wore matching sweatshirts with pictures of mustangs running across a desert. You had to wonder where those were sold. Connor sat next to them. “Hi, Mom.”
“My son is here!” Mom announced. “Hello, sweetheart! How nice to see you! I called you yesterday, but you didn’t call me back.” It wouldn’t be a visit with his mother without a guilt trip, but she looked pleased nonetheless, and Connor knew he scored points by stopping by.
“My son and daughter own O’Rourke’s,” Mom told the drinkers. “It’s the best restaurant in town.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’ll get your cut later.” He winked at the patrons, who smiled back.
“What are you doing here?” Mom asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Nope. I was out for a run. Thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
His mom beamed. “The best son in the world.”
“Why stop at son? How about best child?”
“You know I don’t have favorites.” She smiled at him. He was her favorite, of course.
“So how are you, Mom?”
“Excellent.” She poured a taste of pinot gris for the mustang couple, then answered a question for someone else. She came back and ran a hand through her hair. Repeated the gesture.
“Notice anything different about me?” she asked.
Oh, crap. “Your hair looks great,” he said. She’d let it go gray recently, and it did look nice.
“My hair is the same.”
“Um...well. You look nice.”
“Don’t I?” She clasped her hands in front of her chin. “Anything different?”
Connor stifled a sigh. What was it? A facelift? New lipstick? He had no idea. “Uh...are you wearing makeup?”
“No.”
The door behind the tasting room opened, and in came Jess. She halted at the sight of him, and his stupid heart slammed against his sternum. “Hey, Connor,” she said, her voice perfectly normal.
“Jess.” He managed a nod, he was pretty sure.
“Here to see your mom?”
“Yep.” His mother was frowning at him now and kept shoving at her hair.
“You still don’t notice anything different about me?” Mom asked.
“Can I have a taste of the Gewürztraminer?” one of the men asked.
“Let me pour that for you,” Jess said. She pulled out a bottle and stepped a little bit behind his mother, then pointed at her own hand.
Her left ring finger, to be precise.
Connor’s eyes widened. He looked at his mother’s hand. Sure enough, there was a diamond there, as big as a cherry tomato.
“Hail Mary,” he said.
“I know!” Mom crowed. “Ronnie and I are getting married!”
“Holy shit.”
“Stop cussing and hug your mother,” Jessica said calmly.
“Mazel tov,” said the lady in the horse shirt, clinking her glass with her husband’s.
There were a lot more cusses that wanted to come out, that was for sure. His mother? Getting married? She was...sixty, maybe? Did she really need to be married? Because marriage implied... Okay, gross. And to Ronnie Petrosinsky, the Chicken King? Didn’t he have ties to the Russian Mob?
Was his mother actually having sex with the Chicken King? Connor’s stomach rolled.
“He’s choked up,” Jess said. “Aw. Look at him, Jeanette.”
“You’ll still be my best boy,” Mom said, coming around to hug him.
“Uh... I’m so happy for you, Mom,” Connor murmured. The wine tasters cooed.
Jessica gave him a wry smile. He smiled begrudgingly back, then hugged his mother a little harder.
This would be good. Ronnie was a decent guy, loved his only child, made fistfuls of money with his fried-chicken empire, and Mom would have someone to look after, and someone to look after her.
Connor wouldn’t have to plow his mother’s driveway every time it snowed. He wouldn’t have to worry about her if the power went out during a thunderstorm.
He wouldn’t have to worry if she was lonely.
“Okay, let me go. I’m having a hot flash,” Mom said, and Connor realized he was hugging her very close, indeed.
Maybe he was a little choked up.
“Have you set a date? I don’t want you shacking up with this guy. Would’ve been nice if he’d asked my permission first,” Connor grumbled.
His mother laughed. She did look happy. And younger. And pretty. “Sometime this summer. I also might be quitting Blue Heron.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Jessica said. “Folks, no one knows our wine better than Jeanette except the Hollands themselves,” she added, filling glasses. “You have the privilege of talking with a real connoisseur today.”
“Oh, Jessica, you’re too nice!” Mom said. “But she’s right, I do love wine. Have you tried our Chardonnay? It’s lovely, and we have both oaked and unoaked.” She glanced at him. “Connor, sweetheart, I’ll see you later, okay? You and Colleen are coming to dinner this week. Is it me, or is she huge?”
“I think she looks beautiful,” Jess said.
“She’s huge,” Connor said. “Congratulations, Mom.”
His mother beamed.
Good. She deserved happiness. She’d been something of a ghoul these past ten years, moaning and mooning after Pete. High time she got over him.
“Jess, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
The faintest blush worked its way into her cheeks. “You bet. Come on back.”
She led him down the hall, past Honor’s office and into hers, a smaller version of the same. On the door was a nameplate: Jessica Dunn, Director of Marketing.
He could guess what that meant to her. The office overlooked the vineyard. She’d decorated with a couple of photos of her and Davey, or Davey alone. A stuffed animal sat on one shelf, as well as some books on marketing and wine. Otherwise, it still looked very new.
“Have a seat,” she said, going behind the desk. She picked up a pen, then put it down.
“Congratulations to you, too,” he said. “On your job promotion. I’m really—” proud, he wanted to say “—happy for you.”
“Thanks.” The flush deepened. “What can I do for you, Connor?”
He could think of roughly eighty-seven things immediately, all of which involved sex. “Uh...well, I just... I wanted to say...” Shit. Talking was hard. He took a deep breath. “No hard feelings, Jess. I understand.”
